Sweet Laurel Falls

by RaeAnne Thayne

  If she’d had her way, she would have marked this anniversary in some other way. A hike into the mountains with little Puck, or gathering her friends together for some kind of service project, or even just throwing herself into work for the day and letting it pass unnoticed except in her heart.

  Sage had wanted this celebration of Layla’s life, though. She had insisted on it and had worked out every detail, from scheduling the time to sending out invitations. She had even arranged the small buffet luncheon at Harry’s place, being catered by one of Brodie Thorne’s restaurants.

  Maura thought she knew why this meant so much to Sage. While Sage no doubt wanted to honor her younger sister’s life, Maura suspected it was also a distraction, an excuse to think about something else for a while and put off worrying about her pregnancy and the impending adoption.

  With that in mind, she had decided she would let Sage have this memorial service this year—and only this year. The town already had the Giving Hope day around Layla’s birthday, a day when everyone gathered to help each other by painting fences, doing yard work for the elderly, road cleanup. Whatever needed to be done. To her mind, that was a beautiful way to honor her daughter’s memory and celebrate her life.

  In contrast to the day of the accident, when snow and ice in the canyon had left the roads slick and dangerous, today was beautiful and sunny, a lovely, mild spring day that was rare and precious in the high Rockies. Spring had come early to Hope’s Crossing this year. Most of the snow in town was gone, except for little patches under the sweeping branches of trees and on the north side of structures that didn’t see much sun.

  A light breeze stirred Sage’s hair as she began to speak to the crowd. At nearly seven months pregnant, she looked round and soft and pretty. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, smiling nervously. “It would have meant a lot to Layla.”

  She went on to talk about her sister and the people whose lives she had touched. Even after her death, Layla was helping others, Sage said. The scholarship fund in her name had already provided one year of college education to three of her schoolmates at Hope’s Crossing High School and a year at a tech trade school for another.

  “I found this great quote online while I was preparing this that really touched me. I have to see if I can get through this.” Tears swam in Sage’s eyes, but she didn’t cry. Maura wanted to hug her, but she knew if she did, Sage would lose her battle with tears.

  She was deeply proud of her daughter when she drew in a breath and sniffled a little but quickly regained control.

  “It was an epitaph in an Irish cemetery and it just seems to fit perfectly. It says, ‘Death leaves a heartache difficult to heal. Love leaves sweet memories impossible to steal.’ I would like you to remember your sweet memories of Layla. You’ve all been given an envelope containing a butterfly ready to be released into the wild. I picked a butterfly release instead of balloons because it’s better for the environment and because Layla always loved them. She called them ‘flutties’ when she was a little kid. We have perfect weather for those flutties today.”

  She wiped a tear with one of Mary Ella’s embroidered handkerchiefs. Maura saw her mother wipe one too. Even Alex, her youngest sister, looked teary. “I found this other saying online. I couldn’t find who wrote it, but I thought it was perfect. ‘Butterflies are symbols of hope. They land beside us, like sunbeams, and belong to us for a moment, but then they fly away. And while we wish they might have stayed longer to share their beauty, we feel blessed for having s-seen them.’”

  Another tear trickled down Sage’s cheek, and Maura finally squeezed her hand as she fought her own tears. This was a celebration of life and today she wanted to remember Layla with joy, not sadness.

  “Now if you could all open your envelopes. According to the company where I ordered them, the butterflies might need a moment to wake up before they take flight.”

  The next few moments were filled with rustling paper as the butterfly envelopes Sage had handed out were opened by everyone.

  Maura opened her own and watched the monarch butterfly climb out to the edge of the paper and cling there for a moment, its wings reflecting sunlight as they opened and closed a few times. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a few flashes of orange-and-black as other butterflies took flight, but hers remained stubbornly on the paper. At last, when she had just about given up, it finally took off, straight into the air.

  Her heart in her throat, she followed its path and watched it dip and soar, joining the hundred others. A few even landed on the headstone before taking flight again.

  Those assembled at the memorial watched for a moment. Her sister Angie snapped some pictures of the butterflies flying off in all directions.

  “Thank you all again for coming,” Sage said after a short time. “It means a lot to me and my mom. Feel free to stay and visit if you want, but remember we’re going to Harry Lange’s house for dinner. If anybody doesn’t know where that is, just ask me.”

  Sage stepped back into the crowd to talk to her grandmother before Maura had a chance to tell her what a wonderful job she had done. She turned around to follow another butterfly’s flight, and suddenly her breath caught when she spied a tall, dark-haired figure walking through the crowd toward her.

  Jack.

  What was he doing here? He was supposed to be stuck in Singapore for another few weeks, yet here he was, looking strong and wonderful.

  How on earth had he managed it? A week ago, he had told her the office complex he had designed had run into some snags with the complicated permit process in Singapore and he would have to stay longer than expected, at least through the initial start-up process.

  She stared, shock and a soft joy bursting through her. She hadn’t seen him in forever, though they emailed several times a day and talked on the phone at least three or four times a week. Their phone calls had become a treasured part of her day. They laughed and talked, sometimes for hours. She felt like she was seventeen again, having to steal the landline receiver from one of her older sisters’ rooms.

  Anticipation curled inside her as she watched him make his way through the crowd to Sage. He said something to their daughter, pointing to her expanding abdomen. She made a face but threw her arms around him, and he hugged her tightly.

  Right. That’s why he was there. He was Sage’s father. He was here for their daughter, probably because she had asked him.

  “It was a beautiful remembrance,” Mary Ella said beside her.

  She smiled at her mother. “Yes. Wasn’t it?”

  “The butterflies were a really lovely touch. And weren’t we lucky it was warm enough for them?”

  “The company Sage purchased them from said it had to be at least sixty-two degrees. It was sixty-four on our way here. We just made it.”

  “I’m glad,” Mary Ella said.

  “Are you coming to Harry’s?”

  Her mother made a face. “That man! I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have it at my house or even Claire’s.”

  “You have to admit, he’s got a little more room than either of you.”

  “He’s got enough room to fit the entire town if he wanted to.”

  “Which, of course, he does not.”

  “I see Jackson made it, after all,” Mary Ella said.

  She wondered if somehow some of the butterflies had made it to her insides, as they rolled and jumped. Jack had come halfway across the world. She still couldn’t quite believe it. “Yes. I just saw him. I haven’t talked to him yet.”

  “Here’s your chance now,” Mary Ella said softly. She stepped away just as Jack approached.

  “You’re here.” It was a stupid thing to say, but in that moment, after these weeks of talking and coming to know each other again long distance, she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “I pulled some strings. Rearranged my schedule a little.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure it means the world to Sage.” And to me.

  “Wouldn’t you kn
ow, for all my logistical maneuvering, I still missed most of the memorial. My flight into Denver was delayed.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re here. That’s the important thing.”

  He gazed down at her, blue eyes murky with emotion, and she was nervous suddenly—until he reached out and pulled her into his embrace, and then a soft, sweet warmth eased through her. Peace, she realized. Jack quieted the storm inside her in a way no one else ever had.

  “I’m so glad you made it,” she murmured, wishing they could just stand like this, arms wrapped around each other, for the rest of the day.

  “I can’t stay long. I’m afraid I’m only in town for about thirty-six hours before I have to fly back to Singapore.”

  “Thirty-six hours?” She slid out of his arms to stare up at him. “You flew all the way from Singapore for thirty-six hours?”

  He didn’t answer, but she saw the truth in his eyes. He didn’t even know Layla, yet he had come back—not just for Sage, but for her. He cared about both of them enough to sacrifice his time and his energy—and probably more money than she wanted to think about in last-minute airline fares—in order to be here for them.

  She smiled tremulously, wanting to take that knowledge and hold it close to her heart. When he reached for her hand and slipped his fingers through hers, she felt as light as those butterflies, despite the sadness that lingered.

  “Did Sage tell you we’re having dinner later at, um, Harry’s place?”

  He made a face. “She told me. You couldn’t find a better venue?”

  “Too bad for us, Buckingham Palace wasn’t available, so we had to take the next best thing.”

  He nudged her shoulder with his. “Smarty.”

  She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “Seriously, I had no control over any of this. Everything was quite firmly taken out of my hands—Sage and Harry cooked it up together. The two of them are becoming quite close.”

  “Doesn’t that strike you as a little…ominous?”

  She saw Sage now talking with her grandfather and Harry was…gasp…smiling. “You’re not going to like hearing this, but Harry has actually been very good to Sage. He’s great at distracting her when she starts to become stressed about the baby and Sawyer and everything.” She cast a quick look around to make sure no listening ears were nearby before she continued. “I think the two of them are now in cahoots about the whole Angel of Hope thing.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “A few times, Sage has casually mentioned she has to go run some errands with Harry, and then the next thing I know, I hear rumors about another secret Angel mission, mysteriously coinciding with her errands. I don’t know. I can’t quite see her doing the sneak-and-run thing while she’s almost seven months pregnant, but I was thinking maybe she’s the wheelman, driving the getaway car.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not sure I want to try picturing any of that. I thought he would have stopped after we figured out his game.”

  “Apparently not. The Angel is still making visits.”

  She had spent years being angry at Harry, hating him for causing Jack to leave, but she couldn’t deny that Harry had helped Sage through this difficult time. If nothing else, he had provided a much-needed buffer against the kinds of whispers or stares that Maura had endured as an unwed mother.

  Just like Laura Beaumont, most people in town didn’t dare say anything offensive to Harry. Now that Harry’s relationship to Sage was beginning to emerge, Maura’s daughter had benefited from the trickle-down effect of her grandfather’s power and influence.

  “I’m sure you’re not eager to spend more time at Harry’s but…will you come?”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Of course. I just endured a twenty-two-hour flight with three connections. I can probably survive a few hours of good food and pleasant company, even if they’re in less-than-desirable surroundings.”

  * * *

  HE COULD THROW a pretty damn good party when he set his mind to it.

  Harry watched the fifty or so people who had come to celebrate Layla’s life interspersed among the spring flowers and purple helium balloons Sage had insisted on for decorations. Everybody looked as though they were having a good time.

  And why shouldn’t they be? The music was nice, the food was delicious and he was serving free booze.

  In the spirit of the Angel of Hope, Sage had even come up with the idea of combining the meal with an activity to help somebody else. That’s just the kind of girl she was, and he was damn proud of her.

  Along one length of the wall, two quilts had been set on frames for people to tie, and a group of women—and a few men—worked on all four sides of each. Sage wanted to donate them to the VA hospital in Denver, which he figured was a fine idea.

  He hadn’t entertained much since he’d built this house. Truth was, he’d always figured there weren’t that many people in town he wanted to spend much time with. Maybe he had been wrong about that, as he had been wrong about so many other things. All his preconceptions seemed arrogant as he listened with an odd sense of satisfaction to the various conversations flow around him.

  “Hey, Gramps,” Sage said suddenly at his elbow.

  “You know I hate it when you call me that,” he lied.

  She only winked in answer, seeing right through him. God in heaven, he loved this girl. She looked a great deal like his Bethany when she had been young and lovely and free of the demons that would plague her so cruelly later in life.

  Fate was a strange and mysterious thing. Who ever would have guessed a year ago—when he had witnessed the accident that had changed so many lives—that one day he would find himself here, hosting a gathering in remembrance of a girl he didn’t know, for this unexpected granddaughter he already loved fiercely?

  “We need to put up another quilt. One of them is already almost done. Can you believe it? So do you remember where we put that green yarn after we went to the store?”

  He frowned. “How should I know? That was a week ago. You’ll have to ask Mrs. Kingsley where she put it.”

  “She said to ask you. According to her, she remembered seeing a bag of yarn in your office and had planned to ask you where you wanted her to keep it, but when she went back later, she couldn’t find it anywhere.”

  He thought for a moment, hating the random absentmindedness that seemed to have come once he’d hit his late sixties. “Oh. Right,” he suddenly said. “I put it in one of the desk drawers. I forgot all about it. I’ll go find it for you.”

  “Thanks.” Sage kissed him on the cheek before she returned back to acting as the de facto hostess of this gathering.

  Harry headed for his office in the opposite end of the house. Now that he thought about it, he wouldn’t mind sneaking a cigar while he was gone. All this socializing was exhausting for a guy who still preferred his dogs to large crowds.

  His office was quiet and warm, faced to catch the afternoon sunlight. He unlocked a drawer and pulled out his humidor. Quite a thing when a man had to lock up his own smokes so his housekeeper didn’t throw them out. After picking a cigar and a clip and cedar matches, he opened the sliding door that led to a private terrace, where he enjoyed sitting and smoking and looking out over his ski resort.

  Damn the doctors anyway, he thought as he puffed, leaving the door open. And damn Mrs. Kingsley too. Her nagging caused him to hide out here on the terrace to enjoy this rare pleasure, even on snowy days in January, so the fresh air would hide the revealing scent and smoke.

  He took another puff—five or six were all he would allow himself per cigar, a criminal waste, really—and savored the taste just as he caught a flicker of movement inside his office. Maybe Sage had come looking for him and her yarn.

  Before he went to the trouble of stubbing out the cigar in the ashtray he kept hidden under a bush, he peered around the curtains to check and realized with considerable shock that his visitor wasn’t Sage. Instead, her grandmother stood inside the room, her attention fixed on the Colville hang
ing in his office. The painting was one of his favorites, of a storm rolling over a meadow in the mountains. The colors were rich and vivid, and he could almost smell the ozone in the air when he looked at the clouds.

  Mary Ella McKnight must be enjoying it as well. She didn’t appear to notice him—she was too busy gazing at the painting, with her hands folded together at her chest as if she were a nun at prayer.

  It seemed too private a moment for him to witness, almost as if he had peeped in a window at her dressing.

  This was his house, he reminded himself. Hell, not just his house, his private office.

  A shaft of sunlight arrowed in from the window and seemed to encircle her, giving her an ethereal glow. He had often thought her the most beautiful woman in town, even now that she had a few wrinkles around her eyes and bracketing her mouth. The green eyes she had passed to all her children seemed to blaze in her features and her mouth was rounded, as if on an exclamation.

  He hardly dared breathe as he watched her, but despite his best efforts to remain still, he must have made some sound. She frowned first, as if sensing someone on the periphery of her awareness. Then she turned fully toward where he sat on the terrace, and a curious mix of guilt and horror crossed her features.

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I had no idea anyone was here. What are you doing out there?”

  Watching you. Yearning. He held up the cigar. “Hiding from my housekeeper. Want a puff?”

  He made the offer as a joke, but Mary Ella was always good at surprising him. After a pause, she strode to the terrace and, with a defiant look, she plucked the cigar from his fingers and held it to her lips like a seasoned aficionado. His insides did a long, slow curl to think of her lips touching the place where his mouth had just been.

  She puffed only slightly and held the smoke in her mouth correctly before she blew it out and handed the cigar back to him. “My ex-husband used to enjoy a cigar once in a while. Certainly nothing as fine as that one.”